Drifting Between Grey and Blue
by sponsormusings
Summary: They'd passed each other in the rain, a chance encounter on a lonely beach. And Katniss wondered how anyone could have a look in their eye as tortured as Peeta Mellark's and still be alive.
1. Chapter 1

She studied the moonlight as it filtered through the bedroom window, listened to the faint rustling of leaves in the night air. She could hear his breathing even out, taking on the deep, settled sounds that she knew meant he was asleep. And she knew once he was asleep, he was gone, out like a light until the sun began to peek over the mountains.

It was going to be her one saving grace tonight.

She slid out of bed, tugging the duffle bag from under it that she'd placed there earlier in the day. Her heart pounded, and she swore even in his sleep, he would be able to hear it. But he didn't shift, didn't stir.

Slipping on the old hunting jacket she'd had for longer than she cared to remember, she picked up the case. It contained everything she owned, nothing more, nothing less. Even then it looked pitiful in size. Her life contained in one forest green bag.

Moving to the door, she turned and looked at him one last time. They'd both known it was coming, both known it had been on the horizon for months. She knew it was best this way; neither of them had ever been very good at confrontation. At least not with each other, not about _them_.

Placing the small envelope on the dresser by the door she moved out into the hall, taking one last glance around the place she'd called 'home' for the last year. And with a firm but resolute nod of her head, walked out of the house and out of his life.

* * *

Katniss Everdeen sighed, drying her hands on the worn dishcloth in her hands before dropping it to the counter. It was a tired sigh, but not a despondent one.

For once in her life, she was happy.

Lifting her gaze to look out the large dormer window at the end of the counter, watching the slow but steady lapping of the small waves against the rocky shore, she felt right. Calm. Home. She couldn't remember the last place she'd considered a real home. Certainly not Panem, and the house she'd lived in for a little over a year. She'd tried, she really had. So had he. But it had never felt that way, not a home, not even when she'd bought throws and cushions to make the lounge cozier, or decorated the kitchen windowsill with pots of herbs.

No, it had just felt like she was decorating his home, one she was occupying. She'd always had a feeling it would only be temporary. After all, hadn't they agreed from the very beginning that they weren't looking for anything serious?

The bungalow she'd lived in as a child had obviously felt like home, one full of light and love and her mom's laugh. Until her dad had died of a heart attack on the bank of the lake they used to fish on, taking with it her childhood and the blissful years of teenage irresponsibility. Then she'd lost her mother and sister to a car accident; by 19 she was an orphan; no family, no friends, no ties.

She'd left for Panem the next month, selling off everything she owned except her clothes, a few of her father's books, and the old civic that had belonged to her mom. She'd lived in a drab one bedroom above a bar that served drinks til 2, and called whores for you no questions asked, then in a share house with 3 other girls who had driven her mad with their incessant whining, multiple boyfriends and their penchant of 'borrowing' her jeans. And considering jeans had been the staple item in her wardrobe, it pissed her off enough that when she'd fallen into a relationship by accident, she'd moved into his place faster than he could ask.

Looking back, 10 months after she had left in the middle of the night, she knew she'd made the right decision. And although he'd been hurt, and the first few phone calls following had been full of words they both later regretted, she knew he agreed. _Of anyone, Gale Hawthorne knew what it was like to be a lone wolf._ Without a direction, she'd hit the road that night - still with the Civic, down one pair of jeans she couldn't locate but swore Glimmer Roberts had pilfered - and waited to stop until it felt right.

1000 miles away, and in a small coastal town in Maine, she'd found it. At first she was surprised, expecting home to feel like woods and peat moss and leaves that were twenty different shades of green. Instead, Quarter Mile Bay, with its rocky shores, thin stretch of beach and sea that drifted between grey and blue, had caused her to pull over, breathe in deep...and knew that was where she needed to start over.

At 26, it was time for Katniss Everdeen to have a life.

She heard the heavy thud of footsteps, and turned slowly, leaning against the counter and waiting for Haymitch Abernathy to mosey through the door. She'd never known Haymitch to rush anywhere in the time she'd known him, not to go to the small corner store run by Sae, not even when he came to get his favoured custard filled donuts she had begun to habitually put aside for him, once Annie had finished making them. The old retired judge was as cranky as he was opinionated, and rarely shut up unless he had a donut or a bottle of whiskey in his hand, depending on the time of day.

She'd recently come to realise it didn't really matter what the time was, the flask was always in his back pocket regardless.

He stepped over the threshold of the door, missing the footboard they all knew squeaked with a little bit of weight, and watched as he pushed a knotted strand of hair from in front of his eyes. They were a little bloodshot, the grey that looked remarkably like hers dull but stormy. Haymitch was pissed off this morning.

She couldn't be happier to see him.

Without a word, she handed him the donut. He glared at her, then at the donut, before nipping it from her fingers and taking a huge bite. He wordlessly ploughed through it, then wiped his fingers on the edge of the old-fashioned vest he habitually sported.

"And what has you so chipper this morning?" Katniss asked.

"Those fucking kids next door were playing in their damned yard from 6am, pretending to be Iron Man and the frigging Hulk of all bloody things," he grumbled, planting himself on the smooth brown leather stool in front of the counter. "I know it's summer vacation, but geez, I used summer vacation to sleep til 12 and piss away the afternoon."

"Haymitch, the Mitchell boys are 8 and 10," she reminded him wryly. "They really can't piss away any time of day."

He snorted. "They can at least do me the decency of sleeping til a normal hour until they're old enough to. Now I'm here, instead of in a blissful stupor." He eyed off a cream filled éclair, and before he could open his mouth, she'd pulled it from the case and placed it on a plate, sliding it in front of him. For the first time in her life, she understood somebody, somebody who almost felt like a kindred spirit. She shouldn't have been surprised it was him.

He grunted his thanks - she didn't expect anything more or less - and bit into the sweet, the cream bursting from the pastry and covering his upper lip. She smirked to herself, then turned to mark it on his tab. He never paid at the time, but once a month, without fail, Haymitch closed out his tab, swore he'd never eat another donut again, and would then appear on the doorstep a day later with a smirk and a demand for another.

"Ok, so spill it. What's new around here?" Katniss asked. It was the same routine. She asked him this, and he would vomit out all the gossip he had been subjected to by his neighbour, Effie Trinket. No matter how many times he told her he didn't care, she nattered over the fence to him regardless. And in a way of brain dumping everything, Katniss allowed him to tell her - even though she could have cared less. But small towns meant repeat customers, and knowing your customers meant good business.

At least that's what Annie had firmly told her when she'd started working here.

"Bristel Saunders is pregnant again," he started with a roll of his eyes. "And Delly Cartwright is apparently bringing a new man home with her at the end of the month. Gloss is having an affair, with who the fuck knows. I zoned out when all Trinket blathered on about was babies and boning."

Katniss choked on her yawn at Haymitch's words. "Shit, Haymitch, don't say stuff like that," she wheezed.

He shrugged awkwardly. "Not my fault that's all she talked about." They fell into silence, one they were comfortable with, and unsurprisingly, preferred.

Katniss picked up the dishcloth, idly wiping at the counter. "What about the guy in the old Snow house?" She finally asked.

Haymitch studied her through narrowed eyes. "What are you asking about him for?"

"Because you offered to return to him the parcel that accidentally got delivered here, which in itself is out of character for you. Plus the guy hardly ever sets foot out of his house. I've been here for 10 months and I've never spoken to him. Surely you did when you went there."

Haymitch scowled. "So what if I did? Sweetheart, you've been here less than a year. People who have been here for the entire 5 years he has have never spoken to him. Hell, I could count on my hand the number of people who have. There's no point in asking about him; I've got nothing to tell you."

Katniss scowled, and threw the dishcloth back onto the counter. She knew there was no point in asking, but she had to anyway. She wasn't even sure why - the man who lived in the old Snow mansion 10 minutes' drive down the coastline was a non-entity, a man who was becoming more and more of a local myth than a reality.

But the medium sized package from a law firm in New York had intrigued her. And for someone who rarely gave two shits about the private lives of others, her interest had been piqued.

Haymitch groaned and pushed himself away from the counter, rising to his feet. "Now after that scintillating conversation, I'm going home. I probably won't come in tomorrow. Trying to give up. Waistline isn't getting any smaller you know." He slapped his hand against the paunch that tugged a little more at the dull buttons of his vest every day, and Katniss nodded in agreement. A smile crept across her face as he walked out, and down the uneven pathway outside.

She'd see him tomorrow.

* * *

"Everything locked up?" Annie stepped through the kitchen door onto the shop floor, her hand gently rubbing against the soft cotton of the pale blue shirt that stretched over her bulging belly. Katniss couldn't help the twinge of nervousness that filtered through her every time she looked at the willowy brunette. She was terrified the woman would go into labour any moment and Katniss would have to deliver a baby.

It was not something on her bucket list of things to do in life.

"Yep, all done. Just the front door now, after we leave. Finnick coming back to pick you up?"

Annie nodded, and shouldered the bag she held in her hand. "There's no way in hell I'm walking anywhere except between the bedroom, kitchen and bathroom tonight," Annie replied wryly.

Katniss pursed her lips. "Should you still be working? I mean, you know I'm ok handling things here, and Finn can look after the kitchen..."

"I know, Kat. You guys are going to be all over this while I'm out on leave, especially with the new part timer we've hired. Rue's a good kid, and I'm happy she can work the out of school hours. And if we need to bring someone else on, we will. But please," her eyes danced merrily, "Don't confine me to home yet. Let me hang out here for a few more days."

Katniss laughed, palming the keys she'd dropped on the counter and picking up her small purse from the shelf under the register. "Fine. But you should hang out more than work, okay? You know I don't want you shooting that baby out while I'm around."

Annie chuckled softly, then shifted her gaze as she saw Finnick's old blue Chevy pull up at the curb. "Ok, ok. I'll see you tomorrow." She laid a hand gently on the younger womans arm as a way of goodbye, before stepping outside. Katniss watched as Finnick leapt out of the cab of the truck, hurrying to help his waddling - there was really no other way of putting it - wife into the passenger seat. She caught the grin they exchanged, one meant for themselves and not necessarily for Katniss to see, and she felt a twinge in her belly.

Even with Gale, she'd never felt that, the obvious link between two people that meant they belonged together. She just assumed she wasn't built for that - after all, she'd sworn off love after her parents had died. Why join yourself with someone, and raise a family, only to die and leave that family behind and alone? No frills, no ties and no complications were far better than the alternative.

It didn't mean that occasionally, she didn't wish for someone to be there when she got home.

She locked the door behind her, and began the short five minute walk to the little cottage she'd fallen in love with within minutes of seeing it. The young couple who had rented it before her had moved into the main part of town; a larger house required with unexpected twins in tow. Their surprise was her fortune, and the little 2 bedroom across from the beach, with it's vine covered trellises, a working fireplace and bathroom with piping older than she was, had become home. _Home_. Finally.

Katniss went through her evening motions - a simple cheese sandwich, toasted, and some cold iced tea she'd steeped that morning for dinner, a load of washing, paying the electricity bill that was a day late - and finally sat down on her back porch, the sounds from the beach, and the occasional honk of a car horn from a street away keeping her company.

Her mind drifted back to the conversation she'd had earlier with Haymitch, one she still didn't completely understand her curiosity about, and remembered the first time she'd seen him...

_The clouds had been pregnant with rain, almost black with fury, threatening to spill overhead. Her windbreaker had fluttered behind her and she'd briefly considered shrugging it off and leaving it where it fell. But as the first heavy drops had begun to fall, landing on her head, her arm, any place it could as her feet pounded against the packed sand, she'd decided against it, and kept running._

_She ran to feel her heart pound, for her legs to ache, to empty her mind when it became too full._

_She'd run, the rain sliding down her cheeks like tears, feeling the burn in her calves, and listening to the crashing of the waves against the shore in anger._

_Running when the weather matched her mood was one of the few pleasures she allowed herself. It meant the beach would be empty - for no one was as crazy as the Everdeen girl to do so, she'd heard Sae quip - and she would have a reprieve from the relentless conversation she generally struggled to maintain in the bakery._

_So she'd been surprised as she'd turned around a small outcropping of rocks to see a figure clothed in black shorts and a white t-shirt that clung to his skin, running towards her with as much vengeance as she._

_The figure came closer, and she'd admired his form, the strength in his legs as they moved along the sand, shoulders broad and finely muscled under the second skin of cotton. And then she'd caught a glimpse of his face and knew._

_After 5 months, she'd just encountered the mysterious man who was still a subject of gossip and innuendo 5 years after he'd moved to Quarter Mile Bay._

_She'd faltered in her step as they'd locked eyes, his a brilliant blue that seemed guarded, angry and confused. His eyebrows had narrowed together as he unabashedly looked her over, before his lips firmed into a straight line, his gaze moving back to the sand below his feet._

_They'd passed each other in the rain, a chance encounter on a lonely beach. And Katniss wondered how anyone could have a look in their eye as tortured as Peeta Mellark's and still be alive._

* * *

He swiped a hand across the board, scattering pencils and the remains of an eraser to the ground. His fist pounded against the thick, white paper covered in lines, a multitude of perspectives and inches.

It still wasn't right. And at this stage, it never would be.

He pushed back angrily, sending the small black stool on wheels flying across the room, where it thudded against a plain white wall. He'd long since learnt not to put anything against it, and now all the wall carried was the scars from his stool. Of those, there were many.

Stalking to the kitchen, he yanked open the door to the refrigerator, plucking a Stella from the shelf and popping the top, sucking half of it down in one gulp.

It was hot in here, but that was his own fault. He'd forgotten to turn the AC on, had gotten lost in the design until he couldn't see straight.

Which could explain why everything he'd just drawn looked like shit.

He leant his forehead against the cool stainless steel and sighed. He knew what was distracting him. That box.

It remained on the dining table, unopened. He'd almost keeled over when Haymitch Abernathy had dropped it off the week before, smelling of stale whiskey, with compassion in his eyes and an explanation of where it had been delivered. For once, he had been unable to talk to the one man in town he could give any time of day to. He'd simply closed the door, dumped the box and had crawled onto the couch, letting sleep overtake him.

He'd expected nightmares, expected the same images to haunt him as they always did. Instead, he'd woken up sweating, heart racing, guts twisted in anticipation and confused as to why he had been dreaming about the girl who worked with Annie at the bakery. He'd only ever seen her about 4 times since she'd moved here, fleeting images that really shouldn't have stayed with him. But for some reason, following Haymitch's visit, she was the one stuck in his mind.

Guilt, all-encompassing and overpowering, had swallowed him until he'd purged himself of everything he'd eaten that day. But the box remained unopened.

He had no desire to open it. Not today, not tomorrow, not ever. Pandora's box needed to stay closed.

His eye caught the flashing red light of his answering machine on the counter as his head tipped back to take another sip, and with a sigh pressed the little black button.

_Beep_. "Hey, it's Aaran. Mom is pissed you haven't returned her calls. Guess who gets to be messenger. Just call her back one time to shut her the hell up, would you?"

Delete.

_Beep_. "Kiddo, it's your dad. Been awhile. Give me a call."

Even at 31, his dad still called him kiddo. His finger hesitated on the button, but...Delete.

_Beep_. "Uh, hello, this is Fulvia Cardew from the offices of Heavensbee, Paylor and Boggs. It's come to our attention that a package for you was delivered to an incorrect address. As it does include some items of quite a high importance to you, we would appreciate if you could confirm-" He pressed the button frantically, cutting it off mid-sentence. Shit. Even his answering machine was doing nothing but reminding him.

Peeta Mellark didn't want to be reminded of anything. He wished he could forget.

He knocked back the rest of the beer in one gulp.

* * *

A/N - This was originally written for Fandom4LLS in 2013. I'll be continuing this as a WiP, alternately with my other fic, _Portrait of a Victor_.

Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed it!

With thanks to tinytns for the lovely cover art.

You can find me on tumblr at sponsormusings :)


	2. Chapter 2

_**5 years earlier…**_

"_I'll take it." _

"_What?"_

"_I said I'll take it." Peeta couldn't help the frustration that seemed to emanate from him every time he opened his mouth, but the young woman was too bright, too happy, too enthusiastic for him to do otherwise. Plus she seemed like she was always already onto the next sentence in her sales pitch by the time she'd finished blurting out the last, and he was forever needing to rein her back in._

_Her mouth dropped open, a perfectly pink pout. "But you haven't seen all of it yet!" she exclaimed. The real estate agent was as green as grass; probably given the task to sell it because no one else gave a shit about the neglected mansion and they'd simply expected to continue to sit on it for years._

_But it was exactly what Peeta was looking for, and hadn't known it until he'd found it._

"_Don't care." He reached into the satchel he had hooked cross-body, pulled out a pen. "What have I got to do?"_

_Eyes wide with surprise - he could practically hear "holy shit, I'm selling this dump!" running through her head - she fumbled in her briefcase for the paperwork she'd need to get the ball rolling and handed them to him. He dumped the sheaf on the dusty kitchen counter in front of them, and began to read._

_An hour later, she'd left and he was alone. He could still turn on the old Mellark charm when he wanted to, and she'd continued to be flustered enough by the imminent sale she'd made that she'd babbled in agreement when he'd asked if he could stay behind a little longer._

_He walked through, his footsteps heavy on the wooden floors, a squeak here and there under his weight. He knew enough to know the place was structurally sound, and that whatever needed fixing was easily done by himself, or his brother. But it wasn't that so much that excited him, that made his pulse run just that little bit faster than it had in months. It was putting his stamp on the place, turning it into exactly what he wanted, while keeping the bones of it. And the facade - well, that wouldn't change. That's what had drawn him to it in the first place, its dramatic curves and edges and fanciful parapet atop the roof that had made him brake and pull over to the curb so hard he'd popped a tyre._

_His planned year drifting around the country had stopped abruptly that cold winter afternoon, as the wind had whipped at his hair and grey clouds hung low over his head. Everything about the picture in front of him suited him in every way imaginable. He'd dreamed of it that night, and the night after that, a welcome change to the nightmares that plagued him. He'd wanted it more than he'd ever wanted anything._

_Moving out onto the deck, he rested his arms - still strong and toned beneath the thick jacket he wore - on the balustrade, studied the rocky shore below, the lighthouse rising from the cliffs just around the next bend. The artist in him itched to reach for the notepad in his bag, but he stopped himself. He'd taken far too little enjoyment out of things the last 6 months, and for once, he wasn't going to deprive himself of something that came with no strings attached - especially when it was this view._

_So instead, he watched the waves, listened to the birds overhead and committed it to memory._

* * *

_Peeta felt the stares that got thrown his way, as they grew like an insistent itch between the shoulder blades. He'd expected it, figured it would happen the first time he showed his face in town. "That's the guy who bought the Snow house 6 months ago" was the first murmur he heard; "he looks perfectly sane to me" the next. He scowled at that, his jaw firm and set; he'd known moving to a small town would result in this - the curious glances, the whispers, the questions, the inevitable gossip. But the isolation the house afforded him - the rocky shore and the pounding sea his only neighbour - more than made up for it._

_As long as they left him alone, that's all that mattered. He really didn't give a shit anymore about what anyone thought of him._

_He'd learned that lesson a long time ago._

_Pushing through the door to the post office, he glanced around. Small, kind of quaint, a motherly looking woman with an oversized perm at the counter. Pretty much exactly what he'd expected._

_It wasn't busy; one teenager popping gum while being served, followed by a middle aged man and then a young mom with a whimpering baby in her arms waiting. He raised his eyebrow at the man, whose slightly rounded stomach was evident under an old fashioned vest and white dress shirt._

_In the middle of freaking July._

_He reluctantly joined the end of the line, figuring he either had the option of getting this the hell over with, or waiting outside until the store was empty. But if it was anything like the post office back in his childhood town, the likelihood of it ever being completely empty was slim to none. So he waited._

_Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he focused on the small screen, on the emails that had come in since he'd left the house - one from his dad, one from a mailing list he'd signed up for a long time ago and kept forgetting to unsubscribe to, and a third from his office. He opened that first, glanced over the short note from his boss, Malachi Cinna, about his new working arrangement. He was pleased that at least that was sorted and out of the way, and that he wouldn't have to worry about any further 'planning' phone calls with Cinna's annoyingly bubbly secretary._

_It didn't take as long as he'd expected, and he soon found himself face to face with the woman at the counter. She smiled widely, her lips painted the same plum shade his mother had worn for years. "Hi there, how can I help you?" she asked, folding her hands expectantly on the counter._

"_I need to set up a PO box," he said bluntly, "And have my mail redirected to it from my old address."_

"_Can do!" The woman said chirpily, turning to her computer screen and tapping at the keyboard rapidly with long nails dipped the same colour as her lips. "You must be new in town! What's your name, sweetie?"_

"_Peeta Mellark." He saw her fingers still as they hovered over the keyboard, her mouth opening in a surprised 'O' as she did a double take at him. _

"_O-okay Mr Mellark. I'm going to need some more details from you." She rattled off a series of questions which he answered with short, straightforward answers, ignoring the glances she shot towards him out of the corner of her eye. _

_It took 15 minutes, but he was finally registered and back on the map. His sabbatical was officially over._

_With a dismissive nod, he shoved his ID in his wallet and then into his back pocket, making his way to the front door. The bell above it jangled happily as he stepped outside into the heavy air. He imagined a storm was on its way, and that didn't bother him one bit. He always found it easier to work with the rain steadily drumming on the roof above him._

"_I know you." The voice was low, gravelly, from either a pack a day habit or years of whiskey. And when Peeta glanced over and saw the man who'd been inside the post office leaning against the wall, the second was the more likely of the two._

"_I don't think so," Peeta muttered, brushing by and continuing down the sidewalk._

"_New York City." The man grunted. "Heavensbee, Paylor and Boggs."_

_Peeta felt his heart stop, and he pivoted on his heel, turning back and standing directly in front of the man. His blood felt like it was on fire. "You like poking into other people's business, old man?" he hissed, pointing a finger towards his chest._

"_You like being a rude asshole?" The man retorted. He pushed at the dark, silver flecked locks that hung over his forehead and smirked. "Because I got no qualms going toe to toe with you, boy."_

"_What do you want?"_

"_Nothing. Just noticed you been holed up in that house there for 6 months and nobody's seen hide of you."_

"_So? Maybe I prefer it that way." Peeta rocked back on his heels, folded his arms across his chest. _

"_Maybe you do," the man acquiesced. With a tip of his head, he pushed off the wall and began to walk away. Peeta's mouth dropped open. The guy tells him he knows who he is, then simply walks away?_

"_Who the hell are you?" Peeta called to his retreating back. The older man turned, curled his lip._

"_Haymitch Abernathy. Ex-Judge from the glorious state of New York at your service. If you ever want a drink, boy, find me. I'm always happy to have one." He turned again, didn't look back, as he strolled down the sidewalk._

_As Peeta watched him go, he wondered whether having someone know about his life, his past, in the place where he'd planned to hide, was a good thing or not._

* * *

"Katniss! Can you check the oven for me? I uh…" Annie's voice trailed off, and Katniss pushed the door open to see Annie, palm pressed to the small of her back, leaning halfway towards the oven door.

"Annie, what the hell are you doing?" Katniss sighed, slipping through into the kitchen and gently moving her friend to the side. She grabbed the oven mitts, yanked open the oven door and smiled happily at the row of golden pastries that appeared in front of her. "They look perfect. You want me to get them out?" Annie nodded, leaning against the stainless steel counter. Pulling the tray out, Katniss laid it gently on the bench, stripped off the gloves and tossed them beside it. "Leave them alone to cool. I'll be back out here in 2 minutes, and then we can discuss how you need to go home."

Heading back through to the front store just in time for the bell to chime and a customer to walk in, Katniss plastered a smile on her face, even though her mind was miles away. The last week had been rough on Annie, and it was starting to show. She'd even had a false alarm two days earlier, and while Katniss had threatened to lock her inside her house, Annie had continued to insist that she come to work.

After today, the time to argue had passed. Katniss was putting her damned foot down.

"Hey Ms Trinket, what can I get you?"

The woman smiled at her, teeth bright white and straight, her platinum blonde hair twisted up on her head elegantly, a summery purple dress clinging to her slim figure. Effie Trinket didn't belong in Quarter Mile Bay; from the moment Katniss had met her, she'd imagined her more suited for somewhere like New York, or London, with her penchant for Louis Vuitton, name-dropping and gossip. Instead, the high profile talent agent lived here, worked remotely, and traveled extensively. It still really didn't make any sense to Katniss what drew the woman here, but it wasn't up to her to question it. Or to think about it anymore than she needed to.

"Oh, Katniss, darling, I'm having a few friends up from Washington this weekend, and would _love_ to serve that butterscotch and whiskey concoction Annie whipped up for my birthday."

"You want to pre-order it?" Katniss confirmed, pulling the order book from under the counter and palming a pen from the jar beside the register.

"Yes, I wanted to pick it up Saturday, if possible."

Katniss hummed, began to write the order out. "Remember we close at 2 on Saturdays," she murmured absently.

"Of course, dear. I can pick it up around 10 if that suits."

"Sure." Katniss' gaze flickered over as she saw Annie walk - _waddle_ - out from the kitchen, and slide carefully onto the stool they'd placed behind the counter explicitly for that purpose.

"Oh, my, Annie, _look at you!_ You're so big! About ready to pop, I'd say!" Effie trilled.

"Possibly," Annie said with a tired smile. She glanced over at what Katniss was writing down. "Ahh, but I'll be certain to get that made for you before Baby Odair arrives."

She grinned, big and wide and enthusiastic. "Sounds perfect. Just add it to my account, will you, darling? Now I must be going again. I'll see you on Saturday, ladies!" Effie finger waved as she walked out the door, both Annie and Katniss watching her go with amusement as she tottered out in heels about 3 inches taller than they needed to be.

"I will never understand that woman," Katniss sighed.

"I don't think you're meant to," Annie grinned, reaching into the cookie jar and pulling out a buttery yellow macadamia and choc chip. She bit into it enthusiastically, crumbs falling down her shirt and resting on the swell of her stomach.

"And I don't think you're meant to be here," Katniss said bluntly. Annie's brow furrowed. "I mean it. You've been tired as hell this week, and Finnick taking time out hasn't helped."

"He's been finishing the nursery," Annie argued. "And you know he can't be here to open _and_ close."

"And you shouldn't be here doing either. I mean it. When does Rue start properly? Monday?" Katniss turned and picked up a damp sponge, wiping up a trail of crumbs on the counter, while Annie nodded. "Ok. From Tuesday next week, you're done."

"But-"

"No buts, Annie. I know this is your bakery, but damn, you need to rest. Rue's finished her training, and she's only manning the front counter, not actually _making_ anything. As it is, I can't be out here, spending all my time worrying if you're giving birth back there in the kitchen, ok?"

Annie screwed up her nose, then sighed. "Fine. But - _woah_."

Katniss' eyes widened. "Woah, what? Are you having a contraction?! Shit!" She raised her voice, the terror obvious as it shook. _Dammit! She knew this would happen!_

"No," Annie laughed, slapping Katniss lightly on the arm. "But look out the window. I go for so long without seeing him, I forget how hot he is."

Katniss turned, looked out the glass front of the bakery to see what - or who - Annie was spying on. She was surprised at who was lingering on the sidewalk, phone pressed to his ear as he gesticulated wildly and paced back and forth.

_Peeta Mellark_.

"He's alright, I guess," Katniss shrugged, tossing the sponge back into the small counter sink and wiping her palms on her jeans. She couldn't explain the clamminess that she suddenly felt on them.

"Alright? Geez Katniss, Peeta Mellark is fit and gorgeous and mysterious to boot." Katniss' mouth dropped open - this was completely unlike her normally reserved, mind-only-ever-on-Finnick friend. Annie laughed again. "Oh Katniss, you should see your face. I might be married and pregnant but I'm not blind or dumb. I mean, if I didn't feel like a beached whale and if it wasn't for Finnick-"

"If it wasn't for Finnick what?" They both turned to see the bronze-haired man Annie had married immediately out of college leaning against the doorway to the kitchen, arms folded across his chest, a smirk on his face.

"I'd jump Peeta Mellark's bones."

Finnick chuckled and pushed away from the door frame, tucking his fingers around Annie's chin. His sea-green eyes sparkled mischievously. "You wouldn't get within 5 feet of him. It's like he has a shield around him that shoots out electrical currents if you get too close. And if you did happen to get that close…well, I'd hunt him down, Finnick style."

"Finnick style?" Katniss snorted. "Puh-lease."

"You've never seen the pictures from Finnick's performances in his high school plays, have you," Annie said, yanking Finnick's hand away from her chin and curling their fingers together. She grinned devilishly. "He played Eric in our production of The Little Mermaid, but proceeded to chase me around the school hall with a prop trident he'd stolen from the set after the show."

"Worked, didn't it?" He smirked.

"Eventually," she replied. "Anyway, what are you doing here?"

"It's lunchtime, babe," Finnick said, glancing at his watch. "Figured I'd take you down to the beach for a bit, have some food." He looked over at Katniss. "That ok with you?"

She nodded. "Get her out of here. I'll be fine. The ovens are off, and I should be right as a one-woman operation until 2. Go." She poked Finnick in his bicep - rolling her eyes when he automatically flexed it under her touch - and pulled Annie's purse from out of the counter.

An agonisingly long 5 minutes later - with Annie waddling, Finnick whinging he should have brought a camp chair for her, she telling him to shut the hell up - it was blissfully quiet. Thursdays in the bakery generally were. She wasn't sure why, but after all this time, she'd learned the ebbs and flows of the town, learned who would be by when, and had gotten pretty good at figuring out what people wanted. Which, considering she still never really knew what _she_ wanted, in anything, was pretty damn surprising.

She quietly began reorganising the left display, shifting cakes and cupcakes and sweet apple turnovers until the gaps were filled and the stock looked full again. She'd learned, through patiently listening to Annie, how much perception mattered when it came to selling.

The doorbell jangled abruptly, and Katniss straightened to find the object of Annie's ruminations framed in the doorway, the sun at his back. It gave the impression of a silhouette, of a Greek god with a halo of hair.

"You got a phone I can borrow?" he said abruptly as he stepped inside.

_A Greek god with no damn manners, apparently._

"I might do if you were a little more damn polite," she snapped back, and he blinked in surprise.

"Is that how you speak to all of your customers?"

"Only the rude ones." She folded her arms across her chest, surprised at how defensive she was. The first time he'd ever stepped foot in the bakery when she'd been here, the first conversation she'd ever had with him, and he was rude and she was prickly.

_Perfect._

She watched him take a deep breath, a broad chest expanding under a thin pale blue cotton t-shirt. He ran a hand through his haphazard waves. "Ok, I'm sorry. My phone battery just died and I need to finish a call. Do you have a phone I could borrow please?"

This time it was Katniss' turn to blink. She hadn't actually _expected _him to say please, hadn't really expected him to back down. All she'd heard about him was how abrupt and short he was; quick to answer, even quicker to leave.

"Um...sure," she muttered. She moved to the end of the counter, where they kept a small cordless phone, then handed it over to him. He took it with a nod of thanks, then moved over to one of the small ice-cream parlour tables that were tucked in front of the large bay window.

And although she tried to keep herself busy, her curiosity won out.

"Look, I already told you I'd have the proposal to you tomorrow," he hissed, keeping his back to her. She could see his reflection in the window pane, could see the firm, hard line of his lips pressed together while he listened to whatever the other person said. "Well, it's not my fault they kept changing the specs, Cinna. You'll have access to my electronic files this afternoon, and I'll Fed Ex the originals down to you just like normal." He sighed, rubbed at the bridge of his nose, and when he spoke again his voice had softened, had a gentle tone to it that she didn't expect. "Okay. I'm happy to catch up, you know that. I'd like to see you and Portia and the kids. Just...here, please. You know I hate going back to the city." She saw his eyes flick up and lock on her in the glass; face burning and flustered, she turned to the bread rack behind her and blindly pulled a thick loaf of bread off the top shelf, kicking herself for being caught out listening.

Looking down, she realised the bread she'd grabbed was her personal favourite - heavy and dense and full of nuts and fruit; slathered with butter, it was like a meal in itself. She'd often thought that, when struggling those first few years in Panem, if she'd had access to this bread, she wouldn't have spent so many nights hungry, simply trying to make ends meet and cutting corners when she had to. With a faint smile creeping across her face, she decided she couldn't think of a better meal for tonight.

"Ahem." Glancing over her shoulder, she saw him at the counter, the phone held out to her. "I did collect call, so you won't get charged."

"Thanks," Katniss muttered, twisting around and reaching for it. She placed it on the bench, looked back at him expectantly. "Is there anything else?"

Peeta studied her quietly for a moment, his eyes searching her face. "I'll take that bread you've got there."

"Oh." _Dammit, there went supper. _"Alright, I'll just bag it for you. Do you want it sliced?"

"Thick," he said quickly, and she nodded as she adjusted the buttons on the slicer. The loaf slid through swiftly, and she shoved it into a brown paper bag, before turning around and handing it to him.

"$2.50," Katniss told him, and he reached into his back pocket, pulled out a wallet that had seen better days, and counted the bills he needed. He dropped them onto her outstretched palm, and if his fingers brushing up against hers was intentional, he didn't give a hint. But she was surprised at the way her palm jerked, the way her eyes immediately flew up to his.

His remained impassive, the startling blue blank and unmoved. Then he walked out of the bakery without a second glance.

_What an asshole_.

* * *

Peeta slammed his front door closed, heart hammering in his chest. He stalked through the front room, banging his knee on the wide-cream coloured sofa, and cursing as he limped into the kitchen. He tossed the bread bag on the counter as though it was on fire, yanked the fridge door open and stared blankly at the meagre contents.

Part of the reason he'd gone into town was because it was empty. Then he'd walked into the bakery and a pair of silver eyes seared into him. And he'd promptly forgotten the main part of his trip.

_Dammit_.

He was so used to being removed, closed off from everything, that the melancholy he'd seen lurking quietly behind those eyes had been like a punch to the gut. He'd been surprised at the lust that had curled through him immediately after; he hadn't experienced that in...well, at least over 5 years. He just hoped he'd not given whatever he was feeling away. The last thing he needed was some brunette with piercing eyes and an ass that looked great in jeans poking around him.

He snagged the milk from the fridge, slamming the door closed and chugging the full cream straight from the carton. He'd just have to go back into town later, get whatever the hell it was he'd wanted. He had milk, he had bread. He'd get by.

Peeta moved through to his work room, wide expansive glass windows giving him a full view of the sea. He glanced over the completed papers in front of him, certain Cinna would be happy with what he'd done, ergo the client would be too. It matched their - fourth and final - specs; a building with slim lines, a domed roof, and a layout that suited exactly what they wanted.

Slumping down on his work stool, and dropping the now empty carton on the desk, Peeta reached for a discarded piece of paper with one hand, a pencil with the other. And began to draw out the pictures that were crowding in his head.

They ended up being of a long black braid curving over a shoulder, of a pair of eyes that held secrets and sorrow. And he swore to himself he would never step foot in that damn bakery again.

* * *

With a yawn, Katniss slid down further in her bed, a Nat Geo documentary on the tv, her laptop cradled on her lap. The day had been long, the afternoon unexpectedly busy with a rush of boisterous teenagers, and while she wanted to do nothing but fall asleep, she knew there was one thing she had to do before nodding off for the night. She'd put it off too long already.

Clicking on the desktop icon, she opened a new email document.

_Hi,_

_Sorry, it's been awhile. Things have been busy, though I know it isn't an excuse._

_Work is good. I still can't believe I'm working in a job that requires interaction with people and I have to be happy about it - but surprisingly, I am. Happy about it, I mean. I don't know if it's for me in the long run, but for right now? It's perfect._

_Annie is pretty much ready to pop. I don't know who's more terrified - me, worrying about her going into labour at the bakery, or Finnick, at the thought of being a dad. I guess as a blood relative to the baby, he wins, right?_

_I saw that guy again today, the one I saw on the beach that time. I've never spoken to him before, never been that close to him other than on the beach. _

_He was pretty damn abrupt, even more than I can be sometimes (I'm working on it, okay?!). People around here say he's crazy, but I don't think so. A lot of those old biddies are full of shit - and when did I ever listen to what others say anyway?_

_But...even I have to admit he has nice eyes. I guess I can't expect him to be good looking AND nice, right?_

Katniss wrote a little more, chewing on her bottom lip as she went. The rest of the email was standard, boring, at least in her eyes. In the end, at a loss for anything more to say, she signed off with a simple _Miss you, K_ and clicked on send.

Putting the laptop on the ground beside the bed, and switching off the TV, she closed her eyes, prepared to sleep.

She vaguely wondered, as she drifted off, if anyone ever read the emails she sent out into nothingness. She knew Prim certainly never did.

* * *

_A/N - Thank you for reading, for your reviews, favourites and follows. The response to the first chapter blew me away; I appreciate it so much._

_You can find me on tumblr under sponsormusings, where I reblog about THG, jhutch and my obsession with pretty pictures of Europe :)_


	3. Chapter 3

Katniss raised her hand slightly, waited until Darius nodded his head before dropping it back to the counter. She knew the beer would be in front of her within 2 minutes, along with a quick grin and a wink.

Darius Watson had been trying, unsuccessfully, for the last 9 months to get her on a date. And despite his friendly smile and copious amount of jokes, there just wasn't enough _there_ for her to even consider it. She wasn't ready for anything like that yet - wasn't sure if she ever would be, especially after the way things had ended with Gale - and had carefully deflected Darius' innocent advances every time. She begrudgingly had to admire his dedication though.

Friday nights she often found herself at The Hob as a way to unwind and relax. She rarely stayed for longer than two drinks, and since Annie and Finnick had started spending most of their Friday nights at home, she was often on her own, nursing a beer at the bar and mindlessly watching whatever sport was on the screen. And after another busy day in the bakery helping Annie make Effie's order, her body had been begging for the drink since about 2pm.

"Hey Katniss," Darius greeted, dropping a napkin on the counter and placing a mug of amber ale with a frothy head on top of it. "How's the week been?"

"Busy," she replied, lifting the glass to her lips and swallowing deeply. "You?"

"Same," he grinned. "Out of towners coming in keep us busy."

"Course they do. Delly Cartwright back yet?" _Damn she hated small talk, but times like this she felt obliged._

"Nah, she's still a few weeks away. Heard she's bringing a new guy with her to visit."

"Yeah, I heard that too." She reached a hand into her pocket, dropped some crumpled ones on the counter.

Darius chuckled, palmed the money. "Nothing is ever secret in this town, right?"

"Rarely," she agreed, raising the glass again. He smiled widely before moving down the bar to serve another customer, and she thought about the ways in which he was surprisingly wrong. Small towns hid secrets all the time, it was just that no one knew about them - after all, if they knew, it wouldn't be a secret. She kept plenty of her own past locked inside, hadn't shared the full extent of the loss of her family with more than a handful of people, those she'd become closest to in town. And she knew the same went for the man who lived high up on the hill. His secrets were so locked inside, she wasn't sure if _anyone_ would ever know them.

Shaking her head of her thoughts, she turned her attention back to the TV, noting the baseball game and the fact that Finnick's team was down by three. She chuckled to herself, knowing that if it continued this way, she'd have something to tease him about the next day. And after another 15 minutes of watching, she figured there would definitely be some good-natured sledging happening in the bakery.

Downing the last of her beer, she tipped her head at Darius, then slid off the stool, heading for the door. The sun had set before she'd even arrived, but it didn't matter. Finding her way home from The Hob in the dark was something she'd done plenty of times.

Scuffing her feet against the concrete path and shoving her hands in the pockets of her jeans, she headed down the slope of Main Street, where its gentle incline headed towards the beach. It wouldn't be long, she knew, before the street and the wooden-front buildings with their shiny glass windows would begin to be decorated in shades of black and orange. The weeks to Halloween would fly by, especially with Annie's impending delivery, and she'd experience her first one in the Quarter. Halloween had always been Prim's favourite holiday of the year, had always gone all out with the decorations of their house.

She'd missed that, missed the sheer youthful enthusiasm that Prim had exuded, the way she'd even gotten Katniss in the spirit of things. She remembered the last Halloween they'd spent together, when Prim had somehow managed to convince her to dress up, and they'd roamed the streets of their hometown in bright orange cat costumes.

And then three months later, the car accident had shattered her life and she hadn't celebrated a Halloween - or any holiday - since.

Taking a deep breath, she refused to let her thoughts go there tonight, and instead focused on the sight of the water as it came into focus, on the darkened interior of the bakery as she passed it, careful not to trip over the slightly cracked footpath. Focused on the hot bubble bath she'd looked forward to all day, and the book Annie had lent her to read.

Turning along the street that led to her cottage, she waved to Sae and her granddaughter, who sat giggling together on the front porch of their house, before letting herself into her own place next door. She went through the motions of filling the bath with water as hot as her body could stand it, lowering the light with the dimmer she'd had installed, and sliding down into the deep bubbles that smelt faintly of camomile.

It had been something Sae had recommended to her when, not long after her arrival, she knew she'd woken both her neighbour and herself with the loud sobs that had wracked her body after a nightmare. She'd been both surprised and distraught - she hadn't experienced one in so long, let alone with the strength of the one that had torn her from sleep. The following morning Sae had mentioned in passing that the soothing scents had helped her, years ago, after her husband had passed and the memories hurt too much, and had casually left a jar of the homemade bubble bath concoction of camomile and lady's slipper on Katniss's front porch one afternoon. It had unexpectedly worked; she'd slept through the next night dreamlessly and peacefully. She'd continued to use it when she'd needed to, or when she'd been thinking about Prim or her parents a lot, but now rather than use it as a preventative, Katniss now used it as a reward to herself. Every Friday night, she relaxed in the calming bubble bath, as somewhat of a ritual to close out the week and welcome the weekend.

Resting her head against the rim of the tub, she breathed in deep, allowed her mind to empty. And with an urge to escape reality, she picked up Annie's book, and began to read.

* * *

"_Uncle Peeta!" The little ball of energy barrelled into him, arms wrapping tightly around his knees. He laughed, reaching down and picking the young girl up, her warm brown eyes full of excitement. He settled her on his hip, studied the pink and white smears across her cheek._

"_Hey there, Rue. Whatcha been doing?"_

"_Daddy let me lick the bowl after cupcakes!" she squealed, looping one of the longish waves behind his ear through her fingers and tugging lightly._

"_Oh did he now?" Peeta grinned, looking over her shoulder towards where Cinna was walking down the hall, wiping his hands on a small dish-towel._

"_I did. But don't breathe a word to Portia, she'll have my head," he smiled, reaching around Peeta to close the front door. He rested a hand on Peeta's shoulder, even while 4 year old Rue continued to babble in the abbreviated language she'd created._

"_Thanks for coming, Peeta, I appreciate it."_

"_Anytime. I get to hang out with my best girl, so it's not a worry." He grinned, pressed his finger to the tip of Rue's nose to make her giggle, and followed Cinna back out into the huge, roomy kitchen at the back of the brownstone._

_It was one of Peeta's favourite places - warm and inviting, with a working fireplace and a wide wooden counter that overlooked the small, perfectly cultivated yard Portia - Cinna's wife, full-time stylist and part-time flower enthusiast - maintained. He loved the straight lines, the practicality and the sudden burst of life and colour in the artwork that ran along the entirety of the east wall. He couldn't help but be proud of the room, as he'd helped to design it not sixth months earlier. And had painstakingly created the eye-catching artwork himself._

"_Where is Portia?" Peeta asked, dropping onto one of the red leather high-top stools and placing Rue onto the bench in front of him, where she swung her legs and looked at Peeta in delight._

"_She's just finishing up a session with a client. Awards season," He said, and Peeta nodded knowingly. January to March was one of her busiest times, and Peeta knew that this year especially, with one of her clients being nominated for a number of awards, she was being worked ragged. Hence the meeting at Cinna's home, rather than in the office, and the opportunity to keep an eye on Rue._

"_So what's the deal? What did you want to talk to me about?"_

_Cinna plucked Rue off the counter, whispered in her ear; she responded with a grin and scampered out of the room. Peeta raised his eyebrow in question. "I told her if she let Daddy and Uncle Peeta talk work for a little bit, later Uncle Peeta would come upstairs and play tea party."_

_Peeta rolled his eyes, but couldn't help but smile. "As long as I get a couple of beers at dinner, sold."_

"_Why wait for dinner?" Cinna opened the fridge, slid out two beers and expertly popped the tops, before sliding onto the seat beside him. "So I wanted to talk to you about a proposal for a hotel redevelopment in midtown, for action in 2009."_

"_They're calling for proposals already?" Peeta asked._

_Cinna nodded. "Tentative ones, yes. I'd say we'll have a good chance of landing the contract - it's a boutique chain and we've worked with them before. But I'm keen to hear some thoughts from you…"_

_Peeta sipped on his beer, listening as Cinna spoke, interrupting here and there with his own comments. Eventually, Portia arrived home, laden down with take-out bags and a tired smile, and they retreated to the small candlelit patio, where Rue played with her food more than ate, and Portia regaled them with the demands of one client and the sweet innocence of another._

_There were times he forgot Cinna was his boss, thought of him - and Portia and Rue - as more of his extended family. They'd certainly helped him with his transition to life in New York, as he'd begun to make his way and his name in the industry over the last 2 years._

_He watched as Cinna reached out, lovingly ran a hand over the gentle slope of Portia's growing belly, as Rue coloured in a small book and sung to herself under her breath. And knew that he wanted something like this one day. He was close, so close. Maybe soon he and Cass could start talking about kids. Maybe they could start trying when they took that vacation over the Fourth._

_He smiled at the thought as he finished off his beer._

* * *

Peeta's eyes opened, the haze of sleep slowly receding. He couldn't remember the dream, exactly, only knew that it had been a memory, a good one, and for once hadn't left him angry or anxious or sad as he woke. Instead his body felt loose and relaxed and full of energy.

He needed to run.

Sliding out of bed, he padded into his bathroom and washed his face, rubbing the grittiness from his eyes, before heading for his bureau and pulling on a soft green shirt and black jogging shorts. He moved down the stairs and into the large, glass-walled sunroom, his lips curving slightly at the sight of the sun coming over the horizon and the way its orange fingers danced over the water. He grabbed his sneakers from the shoe rack and opened the door out onto the deck, breathing in the brisk morning air as he lowered himself to the ground and slipped the shoes on.

He double-knotted the laces - a habit ingrained from childhood - and stood, stomping his feet against the first wooden step. At this time of year, he preferred the early morning run he took on the beach; it wasn't too hot, wasn't cold, and the breeze was just enough to tease the edge of his shirt and sneak up his back. He didn't mind running in the heat or the rain - especially on the days when his dreams were dark and they lingered even after he'd dragged himself from sleep - but the morning sunrise in September had become his favourite time to run.

Peeta warmed up slightly, stretching his calf muscles, loosening his body so that he could hopefully avoid cramping or a stitch, before slowly jogging his way down the old steps that led from the top of the cliffs to the bottom. He liked the fact that it was almost like his own private access to the beach; that he could go straight from his back deck down to the winding path through the rocks and onto the sand without having to worry about encountering a single person.

He slipped on his earbuds - a little bit of old school Foo Fighters to get him on pace this morning - and he hit the sand. He took one half turn to look back up to the house, nodding to himself absently as he admired it, then picked up his stride.

Running through his current projects in his mind - next up was a new day spa facility that had been approved and was being developed in Boston, followed by a private request from Cinna, one he was still not fully briefed on - he let his body go into auto-pilot, trusting his feet to get him where he needed to go, his memory to lead him to the far end of the beach. He mulled over colours, thought about the layout of the lobby, considered the possibility of having to travel to Boston for consultations. It was one aspect Cinna had been non-negotiable over when he'd requested to work remotely - continuing to meet with clients at their offices or development locations - and Peeta had had no choice but to accept. And mostly, as long as the travel was to anywhere _but_ New York, he was fine.

As a result, he hadn't worked on a New York based project since he'd left, and he preferred it that way.

Beads of sweat pearled on his forehead, and he picked up his pace, his arms swinging to help his momentum. He'd never run track in school - he'd stuck to wrestling, like his older brothers had, and had given soccer a try while he was a senior. But since his arrival in the Quarter, the beach had called to him.

Dodging around a rock that had obviously tumbled from the cliff above, he began to canvas the thin curve of beach that lined the base of the lighthouse. It was only ever accessible during low tide, and he was thankful that it was going out, to give him time to make it back before the water overtook it again. But he didn't expect to run headlong into something, slamming him to the ground and causing him to land on his tailbone painfully. His earbuds fell to the soggy sand.

"Shit!" he hissed, wincing, the wind knocked out of him at the unexpected impact. He looked up to find the girl from the bakery - _dammit, she was the last person he wanted to see_ - sprawled on the sand, her hair hanging half over her face. She pushed it out of the way, a look of apology on her face as she stood, rubbing her forehead where a goose-egg was already beginning to form.

"Sorry about that," she told him. "I was looking up at the lighthouse and…." She trailed off as she continued to look at him, catching his expression. Something about her set his teeth on edge, even while it made him take a second look at the way her shorts ended about a million inches above her knees. He knew it the minute the annoyance crept across his face - he could feel it in the set of his jaw, in the faint narrowing of his eyebrows. Her own eyes hardened in response.

Peeta pulled himself to his feet, hooking the earbud strands around his neck. He brushed the sand off his arms and bent over at the waist, pressing his hands against his knees as he struggled to intake air. His tailbone ached like a bitch, and the way her forehead had smashed into his jaw wasn't really helping either.

"You don't have anywhere else to run?" He finally blurted out, glancing up at her. The pink flush already apparent on her cheeks from her run began to deepen and darken, her eyes flashing.

"Don't you?" She snapped back, folding her arms across her chest. "I have as much right to this beach as you do."

"But you've never run here at this time of day before - or up near the lighthouse," he argued, though he knew she was right, and he didn't have a claim to it any more than she did.

The woman shrugged. "I do now."

They continued to stare at each other until, with a sigh, Peeta dropped his gaze. He didn't have the energy - or desire - in him to fight with her. Straightening, he placed his hands on his hipbones. "Alright then." He nodded his head, then stepped past her, beginning to lift the earbuds up as he jogged away down the packed sand.

"Hey!"

He turned his head sharply at her voice to see her still watching him, hip cocked, arms folded across her chest. He continued to jog on the spot as he looked at her. "What?"

"Sorry about your box."

He heart thudded painfully as his feet stopped moving. His shoes felt like lead had suddenly been poured into them. "What?"

"The box. Sorry it took a few days to get it to you. I know it accidentally got sent to us, and then Haymitch said he'd drop it off to you….He did, right?"

Peeta sneered, even though his mind was racing and sweat began to bead across his upper lip. "I got it."

Her mouth dropped open at what he knew was his harsh tone. "For fucks sake, I'm just trying to be a friendly neighbour. I'm not asking for state secrets," she snapped back.

"Is it even any of your business?Or do you think it is, because we live in a small town and everyone is supposed to know everything about everyone?"

"Are you kidding me?" She snorted out a laugh, incredulity obviously overriding her annoyance at him. "You really think that highly of yourself that you think I'd care all that much about _your_ business?"

He shrugged. "I don't know, I don't know you. I don't even know your name."

"Exactly." She glared at him, reaching up to tighten the ponytail that trailed down her back. "Maybe, before you immediately start acting like an asshole, you could just accept that sometimes people ask questions out of courtesy. Because if you even knew me, you'd sure as shit know that I don't care one bit about town gossip." She fell silent for a moment, scrutinising him. "All I did was apologise that you didn't get your box straight away. I didn't freaking ask what it was about."

He opened his mouth, then closed it again. _What the hell was he doing? She was right. All she was doing was asking a simple question, and he'd gone from zero to a hundred without even listening to her. _But an apology felt bitter and awkward on his tongue - it had been a long time since he'd apologised to anyone.

With a sigh, she shook her head. "You know what, don't worry about it. Forget I even said anything." She spun on her heel, continued to head in the direction of his house. He watched her go, knew he was being an asshole when all he had to say was _thanks_.

"Wait!" Peeta called to her retreating back.

"What?" she yelled, not bothering to look back, her pace picking up.

"Thanks!"

"That's all you needed to say," she tossed over her shoulder, then disappeared around the corner of the beach.

He slumped back to the ground, certain that there was no more running for him today - his morning had gone from pleasant to totally screwed in less than twenty minutes.

It must have been some kind of record.

* * *

"And then, _and then_, he starts accusing me of being a town gossip!" Katniss exclaimed, turning the chair upside down and resting it on the circular table. Finnick, mop and bucket in hand, laughed as he crossed the store-front of the bakery, flipping the _closed_ sign over before shutting and locking the door.

"Well, he's right off the mark, isn't he?" Finnick chuckled, squeezing the excess water out of the mop and beginning to clean the floor.

"I know," she grumbled. "I could give a rats ass about him and his precious little parcel, but damn if he doesn't rile me up every time he opens his mouth."

"Count yourself lucky," he told her, scooting around her as she lifted another chair up. "Seems like he's spoken to you more in the last week than he has to half the people in town in total."

"Whoop-de-doo." Katniss rolled her eyes, sliding the final chair onto the tabletop and moving back around the counter to begin emptying the display case of any leftovers. Not that there were many - Saturday mornings tended to wipe them almost entirely of stock. She sighed, glanced out the storefront window as a bunch of kids barrelled past, beach towels slung over their shoulders. "I was just trying to be nice."

"For once."

"For on- hey!" Katniss glared over at Finnick, who laughed again.

"Oh, Kat, you're so easy to play with," he teased, swiping the mop over the last few squares of tiles. "I know you're not cool with small talk and whatever, and that it's something you've really tried hard to come around to since moving here. And it's worked - you've got a rapport with a lot of the customers, even Abernathy. Although that doesn't surprise me, because you're like two crotchety peas in a pod."

"Is this meant to be a pep talk or a character assassination?" She snapped.

"This is me, telling you," he pointed at her for emphasis, his green eyes sparkling in amusement, "That you care, Katniss, even though you pretend not to. You've weaseled your way into the ebb and flow of town. Even if that means taking a moment to apologise to Peeta Mellark about his delayed parcel."

Katniss screwed up her nose, focused on pulling the final tray from the display. She knew he was right - she might not care for the gossip, but she at least cared for the people.

"Plus _I _think _you_ think he's cute, just like Annie does."

"What?" Katniss' head flew up, glared at him over the counter. He laughed again. "Oh my god, Finn, are you just going to spend all of close laughing at me?"

"If it warrants it, yes." He pushed the mop back into the bucket, sliding it behind the counter, before popping the register open. "Each time you bring him up, the tips of your ears go pink. With your skin tone, it's pretty obvious."

"I do not!" she hissed. "And when do I 'bring him up'?"

He dumped a wad of notes into a plastic ziplock bag. "You brought him up yesterday, when you told Annie about him using the phone on Thursday. And you've brought him up again just now."

"Twice! Wow, how obvious of me!" She retorted. But part of her was terrified he was right. _Was_ she attracted to Peeta, someone she didn't even know, someone who had treated her pretty shittily on both occasions they'd interacted? Hadn't she woken Friday morning with the lingering sensation of the touch of his hand on hers, and the expressionless gaze he'd pinned her with the afternoon prior? Her fingers reached up, gently pressed against the bump on her forehead.

_Nope. That wasn't it. She'd only asked him out of habit, one she'd had to pick up to work in the bakery. Ask questions, be friendly, even if she didn't feel like was all. Not that she'd bother again._

"There's no harm in finding him cute, you know," Finnick told her, closing the register as he dropped the final few coins in the bag.

"Whatever, Finn," she finally murmured, as she finished boxing up the leftovers, knowing Annie and Baby Odair would appreciate them. "I was just asking him to be nice."

"Mmm-hmm," he agreed, although she knew his tongue was placed firmly in his cheek as he said so.

She rolled her eyes, and continued to close.

* * *

The card stuck out of her mailbox, the brightly coloured corner obvious against the dull white of the paint. Pulling it out, Katniss glanced around, but didn't see anyone on the street, nor on the stretch of beach right in front of her place, before studying the Quarter Mile Bay postcard with the sun setting behind the lighthouse. Flipping it over, she pursed her lips over the unfamiliar handwriting, and the lack of a postage stamp. And then couldn't help the jolt of surprise at the signature.

_Katniss,_

_Sorry I was a jerk. A couple of years ingrained habit, I guess._

_Thanks for organising the delivery of my parcel._

_Peeta Mellark._

_P.S I'm not a stalker. I asked Abernathy for your name and address._

Tapping the unexpected card against her hand, she turned on her heel, and headed to Haymitch's. The sneaky bastard had a few questions to answer.

* * *

_A/N - Thank you for reading, for your favourites, follows and reviews. They make my day, and are very appreciated :)_


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